[TW] Rape

Rape Survivors: Read One Woman’s Story

I’m laying underneath a new guy I met in his bed after a party. I’m not sure if it’s the beer or his wider-than-I’m-used-to dick, but after about 20 minutes of awkward grinding on him, I already climax and my vagina starts hurting. As soon as I feel pain, the anxiety sets in. He is still going, and there’s no end in sight. So, I get on top and keep riding him, trying my best to make my painful cries sound like sexual moans, talking dirty in his ear in hopes he’ll just finish already so I can stop and not be in pain anymore. I don’t want to stop out of fear that he’ll be unsatisfied. I turn over so he can fuck me from behind, and ask him to come on my ass, thinking that will turn him on enough to finish. Maybe it’s the fact that we’d had sex twice, or the amount of beer we had drank, but that doesn’t work, either. There is still no sign of relief. I finally get the confidence to ask him to stop even though he hasn’t finished yet. I am so scared, so I immediately start apologizing. All I can think about is him being mad at me or wanting me to keep going, even though I am in pain. I roll off of him and lay my head on his shoulder, and continue to apologize.

He seems confused, like he can’t understand why I would be apologizing so much. How am I supposed to explain to someone I’m in to that my last ex would get high and rape me?

For many rape survivors, this is what sex can be like.

For three years, I was in a relationship with drugs and the devil. Even though we both knew he wouldn’t be able to come if he did drugs, we’d still insist on doing the same dance every night. We would go get drugs, and then afterwards I would sit on his bed and watch him crush up the tiny blue pill on a mirror on his desk. He would bring it over and set it on the floor beside me. Then he would take off my clothes. I knew how it would end, but every single time I hoped something would change. I wanted him to be happy, so I’d let him kiss me. He’d put the powder in a line on my lower stomach leading almost all the way down to my vagina. Once he’d brush all the powder off the mirror in a line onto my body, he’d start kissing me again. Whenever he was ready he would grab his straw, or rolled up dollar bill, or whatever he happened to be using that day, and snort the powder off my body.

He’d finish the line, and then tilt his head back as he grabbed his nose so no powder fell out. Then he would lick the remaining powder off of my body so he didn’t waste any bit of his precious blue pill. He would lick all the way down to my vagina, and then start going down on me once he got it all off of my stomach. When he was done, he would come back up and kiss me. I could taste myself and the pills in his mouth; that alone was addicting. Once he was done with that, he would get up and leave me laying on the bed while he crushed some up for me. I always had to wait. He only crushed up half of a pill for me, because I wasn’t allowed to have that much (a selfish feature of his I am actually thankful for now).

After I ingested my allotment, he’d come over to me, force me onto my knees, and put his dick in my mouth. At first I didn’t mind. I’d go down on him for a few minutes until he’d grab my head and thrust himself so hard into my mouth that I gagged and my eyes watered. I would just concentrate on trying not to throw up. He’d finally stop to take the pill he crushed up for me and brush the line onto his dick. I’d take the straw and snort it off. He didn’t want me to waste any of it, so he’d shove his cock in my mouth. I could taste the pills on him. Part of me liked the taste more than the actual high, so I didn’t mind.

He’d pull out of my mouth and start kissing me again. He would rub my clit until I was wet enough for him to fuck me. I wanted it at first. He would thrust into me for a while until I would come, then he would go down on me and then turn me over so he could fuck me from behind. After about 20 minutes it became annoying, and then it started hurting. At first I would ignore it and hope he was almost finished, even though I knew that was never the case. I’d ask him to stop, and I told him that it hurt, but he would always tell me just a little bit longer, that he was about to come.

For some reason I always believed him.

I’d tell him again. I’d say that it hurt, and I was too dry so it wouldn’t work. He would spit on his dick, but that didn’t help much. Instead, he’d push my head into the pillow and continue fucking me. I’d try to muffle my cries with the pillow and think of something else, anything else. I’d beg him to stop; I’d say to him that I was going to start bleeding, and I really needed him to stop. I’d try getting out from underneath him, but he’d push me back down on the bed and put a pillow on the back of my head so he didn’t have to hear me. He’d pulled my hair until I thought he was going to rip it out. I would just lay in the pillow and cry, asking him to stop, and hope to God he would finish soon.

After about an hour he would get up. I’d think he was done, but he was just crushing up another pill. I would always try to walk out, but I knew if I left he wouldn’t give me anymore drugs. So I’d stay and just hope he didn’t want to continue to have sex. He would push me back down on the bed and put the line in between my boobs, enter me again, and snort it off as he was fucking me. I could never look at him when he did that; I would just close my eyes and hope he didn’t see me cry. He licked up the remains, as per usual, and continue to fuck me while I held a pillow over my head and fought back tears.

He would eventually get frustrated and stop. Then he would straddle my head and fuck my mouth. Luckily, I’d be numb enough from the drugs that I didn’t gag as much. He’d thrust so hard into my throat that I couldn’t breathe. I’d push him away just far enough to get a good breath of air, and then he would continue. His dick wasn’t that big, but it was just big enough to hurt every time he pushed into my throat. At this point, there was no holding back tears. I’d just close my eyes and cry. He’d pull my hair and slap me in the face; it stung against my tears. I couldn’t open my eyes. I couldn’t stand to look at him above me and think about the pain I was in. He always got tired and would lay down and make me suck him or jack him off. I felt like it would never end. I took his dick out of my mouth and told him that I couldn’t go any longer, that my mouth was dry and I was in pain. I felt like my arms would fall off, but he would get so mad if I even thought about not finishing him. We would do this for hours. He said I had to get him off, or he would get blue balls, and he wasn’t okay with that. He’s say he knew I’d come, and that it was only fair that I got him off as well.

Finally I’d convince him to stop.

He’d be so angry that he’d slap me and call me a worthless cunt because I didn’t know how to get him off. He would take my drugs and threaten to keep them from me because I didn’t deserve them.

Rape Survivors, Sex, and PTSD

We’d do this almost every night. Sometimes, we would even get a cheap hotel and binge all night doing nothing but drugs and having sex for hours. He was my boyfriend; I thought I loved him, and I wanted to have sex with him, just not for six hours. I don’t think I ever got him off when he did drugs. I’m honestly not sure why he’d still have sex with me.

I, like many rape survivors, develop sexual aversion. At first, I hated the thought of another dick ever in my mouth; it made me sick to my stomach thinking that any part of my sexual past with drugs and the devil could happen again. It took me a while to be able to get romantic with another guy after that, and when I did I was terrified of that happening again. They would be offended when I didn’t want to go down on them for long or not want to suck their dick at all, but it wasn’t that I didn’t want to, it was that I was afraid to. Any time I had sex I was so scared of a guy not finishing and being afraid he would make me do those things again. It made it hard to even enjoy any part of it. But healthy guys can’t have sex for 6 hours, not unless they are on drugs anyways. Eventually the anxiety went away mostly, but anytime my sexual partner and I have had too much to drink, and sex starts hurting I get so scared that I won’t be able to make him come. I won’t be abused again, so I say something when I want to stop, but I can’t help but feel so bad and apologize because I’m afraid they are mad or unstable. On one hand, I’ve learned a lot from my past relationships, but on the other hand, I will continue to randomly have anxiety attacks during sex. Unfortunately, this is the case for so many women because so many of us are rape survivors.

Steph Lancaster
22 year old Orlando based writer.